The first of many nightmares

My earliest childhood memory is the only time I can recall my mother ever holding me. I had been put down for a nap in my crib and awoke to the sound of blood curdling screams that seemed to be coming from somewhere off in the distance. I had no way of knowing that those screams were actually coming from me, and served to wake me from a nightmare. As she pressed my tiny head to her chest, she reached down to retrieve my blanket, and then she wrapped it around me while she made her way downstairs to the little love seat that leaned against the wall in the front hall. Once there, she melodiously cooed aaa ah aaa over and over. The soft scent from her shampoo calmed me, and the vibrations of her voice reverberated in the most soothing feeling I had ever known. I closed my eyes feeling safe and warm, drifting off to sleep, and never ever wanting it to end.